I should be packing for my trip to DC, but I've been thinking all day about writing one last post before I leave both Madison and the blog for the weekend. I'm calling it "gratitude," though I think that word's more than a little over-used these days. Isn't "thanks" good enough anymore? But "thanks" isn't exactly an attitude, and "thankfulness" has a kind of made-up, awkward quality to it. Anyway, here are a few of the things I'm thankful for--all the time, not just in this week of gobbling good food:
The radiation therapy that helped cure my Hodgkin's disease in 1982, and no doubt caused the tumor that grew in my stomach, smack in the middle of the radiation field. It enabled me to live long enough to raise my sons, who were 3 and 6 when the Hodgkin's was diagnosed, and to see them become young men of whom I'm very proud.
The health insurance I was able to get through my former employer, the State of Wisconsin. Also, Medicare-- that "socialized" medicine option for those of us who are disabled or over 65. Everyone should have such options.
My highly-skilled and very compassionate doctors, nurses, and other health care providers.
The nearly three years since I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, and especially the past 15 months, since I learned it had spread to my lungs. Recently, someone looked deeply into my eyes and said, a little too soulfully for my taste, "You're on a journey." I wanted to say, aren't we all? Because of course we are, from the moment we're born. But it's a real gift to have the nature of the journey so impressed on you that you not only want to live fully, consciously, without regret--but actually try to!
The technological advances that make it possible for me to communicate without much of a voice. (Big concession from a would-be Luddite.)
And most important, the friends and family who provide emotional and physical support in whatever way they can: through e-mail, little gifts, dinner invitations, offers of rides, prayers.... Too many ways to enumerate!
May you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving with your friends and loved ones, and may you gather back here next week when I will have some suggestions about how we can create a real discussion in the comments section about realities (illness, dying, death, the benefits of socialized medicine, to name just a few) most of us find hard to face.
Occasional reflections on my journey through life without a voice, with digressions to keep friends, family, and interested others informed about my health. In June 2007, a tumor or tumors related to my metastatic stomach cancer began to squeeze the nerves that control the larynx and the diaphragm--affecting both my ability to breathe and to speak. But I still have plenty to say!
1 comment:
Reading Judy's blog today for the first time, I mentioned to her I thought fewer comments would get posted since people know she is moderating them. I for one, tend to comment on blogs more often when the comments are not moderated. To which Judy responded:
"Well, the comments I've gotten so far are things like "nice blog" and I don't think that's something everyone needs to see. Also, people have a tendency to tell me how wonderful I am in dealing with all this-- and I don't want the blog to be all about that, either. I'm much more interested in hearing what people have to say about, for instance, how they feel. I think all this is much harder on the people around me than on me."
To which I said, don't be so bashful! It is a nice blog, so why shouldn't we all see that each other thinks so. And Judy is wonderful in how she's been dealing with this, so why shouldn't we see that each other think that also!
But all that said, I understand Judy's wanting some of the comments to be about how other people feel, not just about how wonderful she and her blog are.
So: As her son, I was very touched to see that the #1 item of thanks on Judy's list was the treatment which cured her Hodgkin's disease back in 1982. I'm equally grateful for it, since besides giving me the opportunity to grow up alongside a mother of whom I'm very proud, it also gave me perhaps my first memories of California (where some of that treatment happened) -- a place of free hotel donuts, sunny swimming pools, and yes, those little radiation-aiming tattoos on my mother's stomach, which were probably a little too much for a 6 year old to comprehend. Their image in my memory always came with a little freaky-queasy feeling, something deep and scary and alien and science-y. Which (unlike the donuts and swimming pool) I never really thought to feel grateful for-- until today!
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